Getting sick can be an incredibly trying experience, both mentally and physically. I’ve always been fairly susceptible to falling ill and it tends to happen almost every month. The kind of thing I’m talking about here are stomach viruses, the occasional flu and of course, the malady to which no cure has or will ever be found, the common cold. As a result of this regularity, I’ve been able to study my typical response in an attempt to make it more efficient and advantageous to my health.
Usually things get kicked off with the sore throat. I like to think of this as “the egg period” because I’m waiting to see what eventual indisposition will poke its beak out from my initial sore-throatedness. I also like to call this “the egg period” because, in an effort to somehow rescue my health from falling overboard, I throw it a lifesaver of healthy egg-breakfasts. Unfortunately, by the time I’ve entered the egg period, my health has usually already walked the plank. I haven’t figured out what my health did to get such a sentence, but I’m already mixing metaphors so I think it best not to delve into those waters.
During the egg period I’m usually wracking my brain in a futile attempt to determine the root of my condition. Was it the dirty rail I touched in the train station? The leftovers I ate from under my seat on the train? Maybe it was that hobo I made out with to make my mom laugh. It really is a waste of time pondering these things, especially considering the fact that I always take the bus. It would be nice to know exactly how I’ve received the germs in question, but the answer is as muddled as the clogged-up basin that I always rinse my hands in.
What happens next is what I call “the sluggish period”. No matter what symptoms I begin to experience, my typical frenzied pace is curbed significantly. For instance, instead of flipping through the channels like I usually do, I just go ahead and sit through the commercials. I do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, my listlessness keeps me from reaching for the remote at every 60-second break. Secondly, there’s a slim chance a miracle drug may be advertised that speaks directly to my needs. Suffering from sore throat, back ache and mild fever? Yes, I would nod. Then try Xackalax; it’s free, comes with ice cream, and it’s guaranteed to work.
Another reason I call this “the sluggish period” is that, at this point, any discomfort I may be feeling can be easily alleviated through the use of medical marijuana. I prefer a mellow Indica blend smoked through a bowl. Brownies can be nice, but may come back to haunt you if you develop an upset stomach. Interestingly, I’ve found that in the absence of medical marijuana during the sluggish period, normal marijuana works just as good.
At the end of the sluggish period is when things get tricky. The next period is called “the grasshopper period” because grasshoppers are green, just like the trickiest creature on earth, the leprechaun. Here, my affliction can clear up without a problem, or take one of many drastic turns for the worst. Such a turn will almost always lead me to the toilet. And whether I’m perched upon the bowl like Auguste Rodin’s “The Thinker”, or grasping the bowl with the kind of anguish represented in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”, it’s sure to be a long and painful process like Mick Jackson’s “The Bodyguard”, starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston.
Frankly, if I’m going to be spending time with my round porcelain friend, I’d just as soon be vomiting than anything else. Though, there’s a sort of “ripped-off” feeling I get when pukey-sick. What’s the point of all this torture if I didn’t get to finish off everyone’s rum bottles? Instead of cursing the bitch that drove me to drinking, I’m cursing friend that drove me to the movies (I know they don’t disinfect the seats between screenings). Whatever my business happens to be in the bathroom, my mantra is always the same: out with the bad. I used to spend a lot of this time talking to Jesus, but now his mom refuses to clean the bathroom until after I get better.
From here on out, it’s pretty much wash, rinse, repeat until I’m back to normal. I have a special toothbrush for when I’m sick that I’ll sometimes give to guests as a prank. The final period I simply call, “the cleanup”. This is the period between my recovery and the redeployment of my maid squad. The cleanup usually entails a lot of hose water and incense. Raymond, my pet raccoon who comes in through a hole he chewed in the back door, does a good job of cleaning up a lot of my food mess. When I see him dutifully munching up my litter, I’m especially glad that germs can’t be passed between species, or else he’d be in all kinds of trouble. I think about all of the stuff I could have gotten done if I had remained healthy. I’m sure that a much bigger portion of my model train collection would be properly detailed if I didn’t get sick so often.
Although it tends to be an ordeal, I really don’t mind getting sick. It gives me a chance to reflect on my own health and appreciate those times when I can function as an independent adult in society. It also gives me a great opportunity to guilt my grandma into bringing me a Vanilla Milkshake. “Just leave it by the raccoon hole, grandma. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”
